


Other Chances

by omiceti



Category: House M.D., Law & Order: SVU
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-16
Updated: 2011-10-16
Packaged: 2017-10-24 16:13:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/265436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omiceti/pseuds/omiceti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Say you're a pretty blond woman in incredibly bad pain."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Other Chances

Alex arrives at work prepared to stand for another eight hours pulling triple-shot skinny vanilla lattes, no foam, but she's barely tied her apron when there's a sudden, stabbing pain around her bellybutton, not worse than it's been, exactly, but harder, more insistent. She's dizzy and suddenly she can feel the wave of nausea, rolling up from her feet in a flush of heat and pain, and no one has the fucking key to the bathroom god _damn_ it, and she manages to hold her hair back before she vomits all over the sink.

When she looks up, Marco is staring at her. "Jane, are you all right?" he asks, more kindly than usual but his voice is fading and oh, Christ, she's been getting used to it but this is really scary, she can't stand up, and she's vaguely aware of a flurry of activity and faraway voices calling 911 and she can't go to the hospital, she can't go to the hospital, and that's the last thing she remembers as everything spirals to black.

*

"New patient!" House announces. "And Cuddy tells me she's a hottie."

"She is," Cameron volunteers quickly. "I introduced myself when I picked up her chart." She looks at the men, who are watching her with sudden interest, and shrugs. "What?"

"All right, Dr. Lesbo," House drawls. "What have you got?"

*

"Her coworkers said she was cranky a lot," Cameron offers brightly. She's twirling the end of a pen against her lips thoughtfully, staring at the board. "That could be a symptom."

"Or not," Chase counters, and looks at House.

If House understands him, he isn't letting on. "Did she start acting like that suddenly, or was she always a bitch?"

Cameron glares at him. "She only moved here eight months ago, and they said she was always _irritable_."

"Symptom or personality defect!" House says, and wheels around to the board. "Let's say she's a bitch and forget about it."

"Maybe she just hates her job," Chase offers. "She works at Starbucks, for Chrissake. That can't be fun."

House is frowning at the list. "Anorexia. Nausea. Stomach pain. Tingling of the extremities. Fatigue. Severe headache. Psychosis. Cognitive dysfunction. Irritability slash bitchiness. Go."

"Maybe chronic fatigue syndrome," Cameron suggests, and House snorts. "Does anyone have a real disease they'd like to talk about?"

"Could be MS," Foreman says, frowning at the board.

"Doesn't explain the psychosis," House says. "Chase?"

"Crohn's disease," Chase says.

"Come on!" House demands. "She has no fever. And it doesn't explain any of the cognitive problems."

"Encephalitis," Cameron says. "Or meningitis." House sighs and says, "No, she'd have a fever, and like I just said, she still doesn't."

"What if something else is masking the fever? She could die while we find out."

House looks exasperated. "I don't think so. But do a lumbar puncture and start her on cefazolin, just in case."

*

Alex opens her eyes to a thin, middle-aged man in jeans and a T-shirt, standing over her bed. "Your coworkers said you're a bitch!" he crows. "Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

"I'm going to throw up," she announces, and he gets the basin in front of her just in time. Her head is killing her. It's bright and clean and a little blinding in here. She can hear someone coughing from the other side of the room, behind a curtain.

She wipes her mouth. "Who the hell are you?"

He's about to respond when Dr. Cameron - Cameron, right? She's not sure she remembers - bursts in, looking dismayed. "Jane, this is Dr. House. His, uh, manners leave something to be desired."

"Okay," she says, uninterested.

"I want to run a few more tests on your blood," House tells her, "and probably an MRI. I'll order you some Zofran so you can stop puking everywhere. That tends to happen after we poke holes in your spine." Cameron turns to get vials and a tourniquet, and Alex tries to sit up. The thin paper gown slips down off her shoulders, and House is staring at her before she can pull the paper back up.

"Wait, what?" she says. "My spine?"

House's eyes narrow. "We did a lumbar puncture. You don't remember?"

She doesn't, and she's feeling dizzy. Cameron's eyes are huge and concerned and annoying as House lurches out.

"So do you like your job?" Dr. Cameron asks, by way of making conversation, as she draws a few more vials of blood.

"No, not really," Alex says, before she can stop herself, and she really doesn't want to talk.

There's a glow of vindication about Dr. Cameron, suddenly. "Maybe you should do something else!" She's enthusiastic, as though Alex had given her permission to rearrange her life. "Make full use of your potential!'

Alex can't help chuckling, even though she's really not in the mood for this.

"What is it?" Cameron asks earnestly, all concern and eagerness, leaning in more closely. "It's okay, Jane. You can tell me."

"It's nothing," her patient says, the remnants of the laugh dying without mirth in her throat. She coughs, then says, with careful steadiness, "You just remind me of someone I used to know."

*

"You have anemia," House tells her, shortly.

She's so tired she can barely open her eyes. "So what?"

He limps over to her bed. "Are you sure you don't take any drugs?"

"Positive," she says, and it hurts to talk. "I wouldn't lie about it."

House snorts. "Everybody lies, Jane."

His patient smiles crookedly. "I know."

Cuddy is storming down the hallway outside, thankfully not looking for him this time: he's done his goddamn clinic duty for the week. Her skirt is too tight. Again.

"Who is that?" she asks sleepily.

"That," says Dr. House, with an oddly detached tone, "is Dr. Lisa Cuddy, the dean of medicine. Yes, she does have a very nice ass, doesn't she?"

She's still staring at it, sort of. "Yeah," she says distractedly. House looks at her sharply, and her pupils are oddly unfocused and she's too tired to deny it. _Not good._

*

"You can add diarrhea to the list of symptoms," Chase announces, having changed into the shirt he always keeps folded in his desk drawer. "And no, I don't want to talk about it."

Foreman snickers. "But that's not a symptom," Cameron says. "It's probably a side effect of the antibiotic."

House looks at her appraisingly, nods. "Much as I love the idea of our patient shitting all over Chase - and believe me, I do - she's still dying and we still don't know why. Who's got ideas?"

*

Waking in a fog, Alex opens her eyes to the woman in the hall. Dr. Cruddy, or something. Her breasts are prominently displayed, and Alex is faintly aware that she's staring at them. They're oddly fascinating. Her head might be swimming, if she cared to admit it.

"I'm Dr. Cuddy," the woman says, and she has an expressive mouth and interesting eyes and a kind smile. "Just wanted to see how you're doing."

Alex tears her eyes away from her breasts. _Cabot, you are really fucking rude._ "Hi," she croaks, and tries to smile.

There is silence for a long moment, while Cuddy looks at her with what might be akin to tenderness. Everything is hurting her; her head is swimming and her stomach feels heavy and twisted and her back aches, but Dr. Cuddy's half-smile makes Alex feel inexplicably better.

"Well," the doctor says, her eyes uncertain and burning with something Alex isn't sure she remembers how to recognize. "Try to get some rest, okay?" She pats Alex's hand, and then time drifts and lingers and her hand is still there on Alex's fingers, gentle and unassuming, and Alex looks at her apprehensive, faintly flushing face and is strangely comforted.

Cuddy clears her throat, looks down. "You're in good hands, Jane," she says briskly, and stands up.

"Wait," Alex says, very faintly because her head is fucking killing her, and why can't they give her something for that? And why did they have to pick a name like Jane, anyway? Fucking Feds. "Can you stay?"

Cuddy smiles.

*

"I hear you got a crazy one," Wilson says behind him, and House can hear the grin in his voice. He's staring at the board with the list of symptoms and doesn't bother to turn around.

"Maybe," House says absently. He's leaning forward, hands crossed on top of his cane and chin leaning on his knuckles, which is how Wilson can tell he's serious about this one. "One of these symptoms isn't a symptom. I just don't know which one yet. But she doesn't seem all that crazy to me. Bitchy, yeah. Not crazy."

"Well, then how come she's a crazy?" Wilson appears to be pondering the board.

"She didn't want to get in the ambulance," House answers. "Said she didn't need to go, then fought the EMTs, who shot her up with Haldol."

Wilson looks impressed. "Haldol? That's pretty heavy-duty crazy."

"I'd probably fight the EMTs, too. Bunch of dumbasses."

"You would fight anyone, House. Maybe she didn't feel like she needed to come."

House looks at him. "She was green when the EMTs got there. The pain must have been excruciating." He narrows his eyes. "Say you're a pretty blond woman in incredibly bad pain."

"Okay," Wilson agrees.

"No, say it."

"I'm a pretty blond woman in incredibly bad pain," Wilson repeats dutifully.

"Why don't you want to go to the hospital?"

"Because I'm crazy."

"Say you're not crazy."

"I'm afraid of doctors."

"No one is that afraid of doctors."

"I get carsick in the ambulance. I'm hiding from someone. I know what I'm dying of and I don't want treatment. I'm a Christian Scientist or something. I don't know."

House scowls. "You make a crappy pretty blond woman."

"Yeah, well, that's life."

*

"Stop!" House shouts, lurching toward them. He reaches the gurney just outside the door to the magnet room. "Get lost," he barks at Foreman and Cameron, ignoring his contemptuous sigh and her wounded-doe eyes.

"What's going on?" Alex asks, and it seems to take a lot of effort to push the words out. "I thought the MRI--"

"Will kill you," House says shortly, somehow managing to frown and look pleased with himself simultaneously. "Do you ever have joint pain?"

"Joint pain?"

"In your shoulder?" He leans down and whispers conspiratorially, "The one with the massive scar and the bullet fragments, in case you've forgotten about getting shot."

He watches her pupils dilate, and her eyes cut to the side, like she's looking for something. Or someone. (Or maybe it's encephalitis.)

"Yes," she whispers.

*

She's pretty sure Dr. House is glaring at her as the nurse gives her a shot of something in the ass (she will not flinch).

She can't help wincing a little as the nurse turns her back over, but tries to smile as he pulls up her sheet and leaves, with a quick glance in House's direction. "So what's wrong with me?"

He looks satisfied. "Most of the time when people get shot and they walk around with pieces of bullets still in them, it doesn't matter. Unless the pieces are in a joint, and then they break down and leak lead all over your body. That's what's causing your symptoms."

He considers her for a long moment. "Actually, the lead poisoning was obvious, in hindsight, but we don't usually think about bullet fragments in pretty blond women. That would be more like Foreman's people."

She's too exhausted to be revolted, and settles for glaring at him. "What happens now?"

"Chelation to bring down your lead levels," Dr. House says. "Then surgery, to remove the bullet fragments."

She nods, and he walks toward the door, then spins around and stalks awkwardly back to her bed. "Why didn't you tell me your shoulder bothered you?" he demands.

She sighs. "It was just - a minor thing. I didn't think it was relevant."

"You're lying."

She holds his eyes and does not deny it.

"So let me tell you what I think," House continues. "I think you bear a _striking_ resemblance to the prosecutor who was murdered in New York a few years ago."

Her lips tighten, almost imperceptibly, but she says nothing.

"Don't worry," House says, in the same infuriatingly flippant tone. "You'll be fine, after we finish getting rid of the fragments. Your secret is safe with me."

"Dr. House," she says, and she can feel how thin and fragile her voice sounds, and she just needs to pull it together a little now, it's going to be all right, really. She's done this before, and Princeton wasn't so great anyway, it was too close to Olivia and also too far, and it shared a media market, and being around the university, with its books and libraries and bright futures, made her so sad sometimes. "It was a hunting accident."

He stares at her, his eyes penetrating and shrewd and knowing. "Okay," he says, without smiling. "It _was_ all over the papers, you know," and she knows that's all the apology she's going to get from him.

 _I'll be fine,_ she repeats to herself, and she thinks about Dr. Cuddy's hands and her mouth and her eyes and entertains intoxicating fantasies of being strong enough to punch him in the face.

*

"Hey," Cuddy says, catching up to her on the way out. She pushes down the sudden rush of panic and almost throws up. _Get it out, for Chrissake._ "Um, I was wondering if you'd like to get a drink with me sometime."

Jane is a little pale and still looks frail, with a slightly ruddy flush in her cheeks that makes Cuddy worried. She looks pained, suddenly, and falters. "You know, Dr. Cuddy, I'd really love to," she says, her voice trembling a little, and then her expression is unreadable, just a steely, carefully controlled mask. "But I'm about to move. Out of state. So."

"Oh!" Cuddy replies, too brightly, and smiles. Too many teeth, Alex notices, and tries not to remember how lonely she is and how much she'd really love to fall apart right now. "How soon?"

There's a pregnant pause. Jane seems to be on the verge of saying something, but pulls back. "Really soon," she says finally. Her face is extraordinarily controlled. "Really soon. Look, I'm - sorry."

"No, no," Cuddy says, distractedly, trying to sound cheerful. "That's - fine. It's great! So! Have a great trip!"

Jane tilts her head, almost imperceptibly, and smiles. It's the saddest smile Cuddy has ever seen. "Thanks," she says. Her eyes are very blue and very, very bright.

There's a man in a suit waiting for her in the lobby, and as Jane walks unsteadily toward him he does not smile, only turns to her, protectively, and covers her back as they leave.

"If you're straight you could have just said so," Cuddy mutters under her breath, and jumps when House says, at her shoulder, "She isn't. You should have seen the way she was staring at your ass."

"What the hell, House?" Cuddy asks, annoyed, or maybe embarrassed. "What do you mean, she's not straight? What is she?"

"Dead," House says matter-of-factly. "Better luck next time." He claps her on the shoulder, limps away.


End file.
